


Kintsugi

by Karenkk



Series: Kintsugi [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karenkk/pseuds/Karenkk
Summary: Ice was always cold, hard and unforgiving. But Javier was the exact opposite.A yuzuvier story being told by both sides. Please read it as part of the Kintsugi series.Yuzuru's POVRPS disclaimer applies.





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Yuzuvier fic. I wanted to write fluff but got this instead. Sorry. 
> 
> Kintsugi or "golden repair” is the centuries-old Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with a special lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Beautiful seams of gold glint in the cracks of ceramic ware, giving a unique appearance to the piece.
> 
> English isn't my first language, so bear with me.

Yuzuru always got up at 5am every day, on the dot. He understood the importance of routine, his body's need to rest. Even though he spent hours staring at the ceiling most nights, the changing shadows and lights projected by occasional passing traffic caused endless hours of fascination. He hated darkness but refused to leave a night light on. He wasn't weak like that. The silver medals that he kept by his bedside glistened occasionally, always within the sphere of his vision. He let a sense of frustration filled him slowly, every mistake and every regret stung. They reminded him of his duty, honour to his country and his people, and how he still wasn't good enough. 

There were mornings he stood in the bathroom, completely absorbed in staring at the basin with the water tap turned on. The sound of running water amplified by silence in the house. Every single muscle in his body froze at those moments. He wanted to turn it off, to run away, to just do anything, but instead, he just stood there, watching as water raised an inch by inch......

Then he would be put out of the trance by his mother's gentle touch. Her voice was always so gentle, lovingly berating him for being a careless klutz. She ushered him out of the bathroom and gave him a towel to dry himself. He dazedly realised he had yet again flooded their bathroom as he stumbled out with his wet feet & soaked pants.

She never judged him, not for taking her away from the rest of their family, not for making her stay in a foreign land with a foreign language that both of them struggled with. Just like he never judged her when he occasionally had to pry a mug that reeked of alcohol from her hand and carried her limp form to her bed. 

Breakfast usually consisted of rice, miso soup and a source of protein such as grilled fish. He ate with thankfulness because he understood her love was never to be taken for granted. Everything she did was out of a sense of duty to him and to their family, just like their spotless house in Toronto, the fully stocked fridge, the clean laundry neatly folded in his closet. Just like leaving a husband and a daughter behind in Japan so he could train in Canada. So he ate with enthusiasm like a good son. Even though everything tasted like cardboard. It didn't matter. Food was to provide nutrition, to sustain his body so he could skate and be one more step closer to his goal. He always cleaned up afterward, it was the least he could do to show his appreciation. 

He never asked if she was happy here. Because he was almost afraid to hear that answer. So he worked harder, pushed himself further to prove he was worthy of her sacrifice. 

Skating was always his favourite time of the day. The familiar weight of his skates, the cold air he breathed in, music and noises that surrounded him - for a few hours his world came alive. It was built with elements he could understand and communicate with - steps, spins, and jumps. It was just simple. He launched himself into air time and time again. Sometimes he landed in perfect synch with the music. Everything came together as he commanded. A sense of thrill burnt at his very core. He felt invincible. Other times he crushed down like a meteor with the momentum that left him gasping for air. Ice was always cold, hard and unforgiving. Just like the wooden floor his entire family laid on after the earthquake, as they huddled together at the local school gym which was used as an evacuation center. He laid there with his mind completely blank, while coldness slowly seeped through his training gear. A crushing sense of defeat overwhelmed him as he struggled to breath. He asked himself why he moved half of his family to this foreign land, why JSF and ANA wasted so much money on someone like him. Surely there would be someone else more deserving. Surely this money would be better spent on disaster relief, on people who were displaced from their homes and lost everything they ever owned. His body ached in protest, but he welcomed it. Because anything was better than that iciness that permeate every inch of him.

But Javier was anything but cold. His expressive eyes, beautiful laughter and warm hands were scorching hot like the blazing sun. Everyone knew about the bitter rivalry between Yagudin and Plushenko. When he first came to the Cricket Club he expected nothing less. Instead, he was met with exceeding kindness. The Spaniard gently accepted his none existed English, endless bowing and other quirkiness. Almost too kind to be competitive, he thought at times. And yet he soaked up that friendship like a starving child. He readily accepted the helping hand to get up after a fall, the congratulatory hugs, the gentle hands that encircled his waist. He liked the attention. Even though the Spaniard's sunny nature extended to virtually anyone around him. 

It was an easy friendship built on broken English, hand signalling, laughter and peaceful silence. And when Javier was between girlfriends it became something more. Judging by his string of girlfriends the Spaniard clearly was straight, but convenient sex was convenient, he supposed. And he couldn't find it in himself to object. He liked how the older man looked at him, like he mattered. He was selfish like that.

Javier's touches were somewhat hesitant at first, probably because he had never had sex with another man before. But Yuzuru knew enough to make it good for him. With skilled fingers and tongue, long slender legs that locked onto older man's waist to urged him on. It started with gentle kisses outside the rink, escalated to quick hand jobs inside the change room, to blow jobs in the shower stall. He supposed a hand was a hand and a mouth was a mouth. To his surprise, Javier engaged in intercourse with similar enthusiasm. He guessed he was androgynous enough not to be a turn-off. 

But Yuzuru didn't always get hard or come. It didn't matter. Because he liked Javier's kisses, always so attentive and caring. The older man's large hands burnt as he touched every inch of his skin. He liked how Javier looked at him, brown eyes darkened by desire and hunger. But ultimately it turned to crushing disappointment. He just wasn't good enough, was he? Not having the curve of a beautiful woman, the familiar swell of breasts and alluring buttocks. There were times the Spaniard would try to talk, but he shushed him with a kiss. But not today please, he thought. He was greedy. He wanted to have him for himself just for a little bit longer. 

So he snuggled a little bit closer and waited with a sense of dread. Eventually, Javier's arm tighten around him to pull him closer. He was once again engulfed in his scent and the scorching body heat. For a few more hours, he was at peace.


End file.
